The Whispering Fields

By Joseph Collins

In the wilds of Upstate New York, a young dog is abandoned on a lonely country road--an act that propels him into an epic journey of adventure and self-discovery. After meeting four other strays, the newly-formed canine fellowship sets off on a quest to find the Whispering Fields, a legendary, hidden sanctuary for all homeless and unwanted dogs.

But is their spirit up to the challenges of the wilderness? Or the evil plans of a wicked coyote? Does the haven really even exist? And who will survive the Hollow Hound, a ghostly canine whose chilling appearances forebode of tragic things to come?

A mix of adventure and mythology, of animal fable and character study, The Whispering Fields, ultimately, is a tale of friendship and survival, and of dreaming of a better, more peaceful world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Foremost Press
• Release date: Dec 11, 2009
• ISBN: 9781452355504

Book preview

The Whispering Fields

Joseph Collins

Published by Foremost Press at Smashwords

Copyright © 2008 Joseph Collins

Smashwoods Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

For Mom, who’s always been there for me.

For Dad, who taught me it’s okay to be afraid,

but not to let it get in the way.

For Duchess, long gone, but never forgotten,

and the best friend a growing boy could have.

And for all the strays out there, dogs or otherwise.

Hang in there; help is on the way.

PROLOGUE

The lonely stretch of country road, way upstate New York, was quiet as a moonrise. Deep woods of black oak and sugar maple flanked both sides, up and down, as far as the eye could see – and a thick canopy of branches hung overhead, blocking much of what little gray light the early-morning sky had to offer. The trees seemed to reach across the roadway to embrace each other for warmth, as if they knew that summer’s end had come and gone and that autumn was now well upon them, with the cold touch of winter’s hand not far off.

A fine veil of white morning mist hung in the late-October air. Except for the occasional brightly colored leaf falling soundless to the ground, here and there, all was still and peaceful, and would have remained so for some time if not for the sudden appearance of a lone car that came to a halt at the wayside.

The car sat there momentarily, the engine idling. Then the driver’s door opened and a somber looking man wearing jeans and a plaid shirt stepped out. A thin strip of gravelly earth crunched sharply beneath his beat-up hiking boots as he moved quickly to the back door, pulled it open and called to his passenger.

Come on, Toby, the man grumbled, with no affection. Let’s get this over with.

Toby lifted his head and gazed up with warm eyes, brown as ripe acorns. Then, although about to rise, he stopped and hesitated. It was not that he didn’t understand what was being asked of him; he was quite intelligent. He just hadn’t expected this. Something didn’t feel right, somehow. So he sat there, and waited.

Come on, Toby, the man repeated less patiently. Don’t make this difficult, now. He then held up a chewed-up rubber ball and tossed it into the air a few times, hoping to entice Toby, and slapped his knee encouragingly. Come on, boy! Come on!

The young black-and-white dog, part border collie, finally got up and jumped from the back seat of the car, his tail waving uncertainly. He raised his dark, wet nose up high and sniffed the air, deeply breathing in the smells and scents of the strange surroundings. Some were familiar, but most were not. Toby was quite certain he had never been there before. What, he wondered, was going on?

Since he could remember, from the day he had been taken as a puppy to his master’s home – the only home away from his mother and siblings he had ever known – he had been relegated to the back yard (and often chained up, at that, especially lately). Apart from an occasional visit to the men in white coats, which he had never liked anyway, since they seemed to do nothing but poke and prod him with needles and things, he had never been taken anywhere. In fact, he had hardly been shown any attention at all for quite some time. It felt like an eternity of sunrises and sunsets since he had even been taken for a walk along his neighborhood. So this sudden trip, and unexpected stop along the way, surprised him.

Hey, boy, look! the man called, feigning excitement, as he tossed up the ball again.

Toby looked up at the man and let a small, questioning whine escape his throat. The jet-black fur that surrounded Toby’s eyes and flowed over the top of his head and covered his ears – a natural mask for a canine costume party – framed his trusting face nicely, while the white of his nose traveled upward and narrowed into a stripe between his soft, inquisitive eyes. He gave another short whine, then barked excitedly as he sat back on his haunches and pawed at the air.

He was confused about having traveled so far, just the two of them, to come to this unfamiliar place only to play a game of catch. It didn’t make any sense. Even still, his happiness and excitement over finally being shown some attention were enough to cause him to forget the why and just look forward to the game.

The man tossed up the ball once or twice more, then, with a swift motion, let it fly. Toby jumped to his feet, shifting his fervent look from ball to man, before finally bolting after the toy he’d had since he was still a pup. His lean, strong legs carried him swiftly. It was invigorating to feel the fresh, crisp air flowing over his face, to hear the wind whistling melodically round his ears, and to feel the thrill of his heart beating with excitement as he raced along the edge of the wood.

The ball, the surface made uneven from months and months of eager chewing, bounced erratically down the road. Suddenly, it careened off to the right toward the open forest, like a plump, blue grasshopper fleeing for its life.

Toby made a hurried leap, snatching it out of the air just in time to save it from being swallowed up by the vast woodland. The young dog landed on some roadside dandelions with a soft grunt, and then turned to proudly display the ball to his master, whom he was sure would be just as pleased as he was with the impressive catch. However, when Toby turned around his joy quickly evaporated. His tail, which had been happily sweeping the air behind him, slowed and dropped as he watched his master get into the car, close the door, and then the car begin sailing down the road away from him.

Was his master still playing? Was this some new kind of game, wondered Toby? Hoping so, he sprang forward, giving chase.

Yet the car was a ghost as its hum diminished and its lights became paler and dimmer – increasingly obscured by the country mist – as it moved farther and farther away. The vehicle faded, faded, and, like the vanishing cries of a mournful banshee escaping the first light of dawn, soon disappeared altogether, as if it had never been there.

Toby whined, as he increased his speed, pleading for his master to slow down so he might catch him up. The brisk air, which had been so refreshing moments ago, now seemed to sting his eyes in betrayal. What had been a tuneful melody of whispering wind had now become a cold and lonely and doleful moaning, and where his heart before had blossomed into exhilarated joy, it now quickened with growing alarm.

Nevertheless, as fast as the young dog was he couldn’t possibly hope to match the velocity of the car, and it left him far behind in the silence of the forest. The only sound that could then be heard was Toby running along the empty road.

He couldn’t believe his master would just leave him. He wouldn’t! It wasn’t long, though, before Toby realized that the car was indeed gone. Still, he ran and ran, until the burning ache in his lungs matched the fiery agony in his legs and he could run no more. Exhausted, he finally stopped – almost in the middle of the road, now – and fell to the cool pavement beneath him. Only then did he let the ball drop to the ground, without bothering to watch it roll listlessly to the roadside, as he lay there panting heavily and whining softly to the indifferent woods around him.

Toby lay there for a good while, catching his breath, before finally being forced off the road – dashing just in time out of the way of a car that came careening by, its horn screaming and its wheels screeching as it swerved to avoid hitting him. When Toby first heard the motor he thought it might have been his master returning, but it wasn’t. The car had come from the other direction, and was altogether different, besides.

A moment later Toby sat down again, this time on the soft, grassy edge of the wood, next to some dandelions and wild clover, waiting for his master’s return. He felt sure that he would. He had to.

Time passed. A few more cars and pick-up trucks rolled by, taking little notice of the young dog waiting at the forest’s edge. When the last vehicle that would come along for some time vanished down the road, Toby was surrounded by the kind of silence that can only be found in the country in the early morning hours, the kind that seems as if the whole world had suddenly froze over and was waiting patiently to thaw itself out again.

It is said that emotions are energy that can open up doorways to new places in the soul. Perhaps this is what happened to Toby when it finally dawned on him that, no, his master was not coming back, but had, indeed, abandoned him, and that for the first time in his life he was truly alone and on his own – and when that realization settled firmly in his mind and deep in his heart, he sat up and barked and whined in fear and anguish. Then, raising his head, his symphony of cries rolled out into one long, plaintive howl.

His wail sent two jittery robins, resting in a nearby tree, darting for safety in the higher branches above. A snowy, mustard-white butterfly fluttered quietly through the air from across the road and wandered its way into the forest. Otherwise, but for some falling leaves, all was still.

The young dog sighed forlornly. He stood and went to his ball, which rested in the grass as if it had always-and-forever been there, picked it up and, for lack of knowing what else to do, headed in the direction in which the car had vanished.

Toby walked slowly along the edge of the road and soon disappeared into the shroud of mist, unaware of the long journey and the great trials and adventures that were to come.

PART I

THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE WHISPERING FIELDS

CHAPTER 1

When Toby was born, the last to emerge in a litter of seven, the first thing he noticed was how many people and other puppies there were around him. He would never forget all the smiling and happy faces, the wagging tails, the eager yipping and yapping, the soft, reassuring strokes of his mother cleaning him, and, most of all, the almost fire-side warmth of the bodies of his family, all huddled nicely together. It seemed like a fine world to be born into, and, he never imagined, in his innocence, that things could ever be any different.

Eventually, though, at six months old, he was taken from his canine family and given a strictly human one. Despite missing his mother and siblings, and being a bit confused and scared at first, he soon accepted and adapted to his new life and surroundings with the boundless cheer dogs seem to have in abundance. At first, everything was fine: he was treated well, was well fed, groomed, walked, and didn’t have such a bad life really. He even came to love his new family. It wasn’t long, however, as the months went by, that he was soon being chained up steadily in the yard, the attention waned, and, except for food and water, he seemed to be all but forgotten.

Of all the things of his puppy-hood that Toby missed, the closeness and constant presence of his family, his pack, was what he missed the most. Still, he had never dreamed that he would wind up completely alone some day – and, little more than two years after his birth, to find himself in just that situation, on his own, far from home, and abandoned to a world he knew little about, was a daunting experience, to say the least.

Although the sun had now risen well above the horizon and the cloudy mist had dissolved and cleared, the road was still a strange and unfamiliar place. The woods sat with mystery all about him. Every sudden sound, every snapping twig, or sudden chirp, or falling acorn caused him to start. No vehicle of any kind had come along for some time. Toby felt utterly alone, with nothing but the forest’s terrible silence for company, and a growing panic was beginning to take root in the pit of his stomach.

He wandered some thirty minutes or so, yet it felt much longer to him, and the long, gray winding road seemed it would go on forever. Try as he might, he could not pick up his master’s scent. He began to doubt he ever would.

He stopped only once to rest, sitting quietly in the roadside grass. However, he soon got back up and resumed his way, not really knowing where he was headed but feeling compelled, nevertheless, to keep moving. He still couldn’t understand why his master had abandoned him. What wrong had he done? And now, what would he do out there on his own? How would he survive? Would he survive?

As Toby moved on, the tree branches overhead soon gave way to open sky, allowing ample sunlight to rain down, and the exposed road soon became hot and uncomfortable under the steady gaze of the bright autumn sun. He hadn’t had much to drink that morning before being swept away from his home, and to make matters worse he hadn’t smelled, much less seen, any water since.

A short while later, Toby came to a fork in the road where a tall blue beech tree, with branches bent and twisting weirdly – looking like a wooden scarecrow – stood at the center. To the left was more of the same: empty road and endless trees, the mere sight of which greatly disheartened the dog. On the right, however, was the beginning of a small town.

At the corner, opposite the beech, stood an old townhouse surrounded by a peeling picket fence that had once, long ago, seen better days. An elderly man, who had just come out through the front door, stood on his porch, enjoying a pipe. Relieved to finally see someone, Toby trotted across the road to the townhouse and, stopping at the picket-fence gate, pushed at it with his snout, trying to open it. When that didn’t work he reared up, pawing and scratching at the barrier, which shook and shuddered, but still remained closed to him.

The pot-bellied, silver-haired man scuttled down the front porch steps, bellowing in anger. Get out of there, you mangy mutt! he roared. Go on! What are you doing to my fence! Get! Toby took off, quick as a jackrabbit, glancing back only once as he hurried up the street, but the sidewalk, thankfully, remained empty.

As Toby meandered his way through town he passed many homes, all of them still and silent, and there were no other people to be seen in the neighborhood. By then it was late-morning, and the sun was blazing down fiercely, and Toby’s thirst had grown considerably. He kept moving, hoping he would soon find water, but instead found the end of the township and himself looking down yet another tree-lined road that promised another long and lonely journey to nowhere. He sighed with cheerlessness, wondering what would become of him.

Then, scouting in all directions, he spotted what was left of an old stone wall made of heavy gray blocks at the end of a dead-end street. Next to it stood a tree offering shade, an offer he quickly accepted. As he sat next to the dry, cool wall, his ball at his side, the sweet scent of honeysuckle drifted by on a lazy wind, and it reminded him of home. Toby closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He caught a whiff of white aster mixed in with the honeysuckle, and then . . .

Toby suddenly leaped to his feet, lifting his ears, searching with them. Had he heard right? Was that a subtle, passing whisper of running water? He ran about frantically, stopped, listened more acutely, and then ran up to and around the stone wall. There, at the bottom of a patchy slope – part grass, part bare earth – ran a small, quiet stream running out of the nearby forest-covered hills. Toby raced down, half running, half sliding, all the way to the bottom, and drank eagerly at the stream’s edge, until he could drink no more for lack of breath. When finally done, he sat in the grass for a while, enjoying his respite from thirst, while sparrows and robins chattered boisterously among the nearby trees or pecked at the ground in search of seeds or insects.

In time, though, Toby, driven by his own hunger, ended his rest and found himself, like the birds, wandering through the fields in search of something to eat. Yet despite his best effort he found nothing, and as the day wore on his hunger only grew, becoming a nagging bother.

He soon ventured back up the slope and drifted through town again, hoping for a handout or some other form of help, but none came. In fact, he was chased away twice by different people. Still, on his way back to the stream, through sheer luck – and the good fortune of his nose – he did manage to find two dried-out cookies and a stale piece of bread. He was so disillusioned, however, in finding so little food and in the overall unfriendliness of the town, as well as his increasing sadness and fear over being lost and far from home, that he even forgot his ball and left it sitting up at the stone wall.

Returning from his meager findings, he stood by the stream drinking away the dry, stale taste of the cookies and bread. The little food he had found would hardly carry him through the rest of the day, let alone the night, and he knew he would have to find more by nightfall. Again, he wondered what would become of him. Then, stepping back from the stream, he noticed a small rabbit nibbling grass at the edge of the wood, some one hundred feet away. He didn’t know what it was, as he had never seen a rabbit before, but the thought of food occurred to him again. Toby gazed at it, pondering.

He’d make a fine meal, perhaps, said a soft, but seasoned voice, suddenly. "If you could catch him, that is."

Toby spun around, startled not only by the voice, but at his own unawareness of the presence of its owner. There, on the other side of the stream, stood a golden retriever of many years. The old dog seemed to wear a pleasant smile. There was a quiet kindness in his caramel-colored eyes, and a warm light twinkled brightly behind them. He had such a calm and peaceful way about him that Toby couldn’t help but to relax and feel at ease almost immediately.

The elderly dog gingerly stepped over the running water and headed toward Toby, and there was a hushed, humble moment as the two canines approached each other with a cautious excitement – the way dogs will – and sniffed inquiringly, from front to back and up and down, letting a whole world of smells fill in the gaps regarding sex, age and general health and well being. They did so until both were thoroughly satisfied.

My name is Max, said the old retriever, stepping back. "You’re a new scent around here, lad. At least, he added, appearing thoughtful, I don’t recall running into you before."

No, I’m—I’m new here. I was . . . Toby paused, then sighed, lowered his head and closed his eyes, feeling dark clouds of shame gathering about him, for there is little else more shameful to a dog than being abandoned by their human master or their pack. I’m lost, actually. I was abandoned by my master, you see, he said, barely audible. Just this morning.

Oh, that’s terrible, lad, said Max, with sympathy. I’m sorry. There was genuine feeling and sorrow in his voice, and Toby felt certain that Max was sincere.

The young dog, responding to Max’s warmth and geniality, raised his head again. Do you live in this neighborhood? he asked, a faint touch of hope giving rise in his voice. In a home that might be looking for another dog, maybe? Or at least one that—

No, lad. No, said Max, cutting him off gently. I’m a stray too. I’m as homeless as you are. Have been for many months now.

He saw the flicker of hope go out in Toby’s eyes, like the tiny, dying flame of a used up candle. There was silence between them. The stream at their side gurgled quietly, as it had done for countless eons. The horn of a car cried out impatiently in the distance of the town.

Look here, lad. What say we get out of this sun? It’s awfully hot. There’s a nice big, shady tree over there to sit under. Just let me have a go at this water first.

Max then turned to the stream and drank unhurriedly. He was somewhat larger than Toby, and clearly a much older dog. In fact, the scattered gray hairs round his muzzle and under his chin gave him a rather distinguished look – a canine gentleman, if ever there was one. Yet despite his age, he walked with a sturdy and balanced stride, revealing what was left of a once strong body. Although his fur had lost much of its sheen, the dense, warm coat flowed back and forth over his thin but solid, symmetrical frame like ripples on a golden-brown sea. He carried himself with a friendly air, the way golden retrievers are known to, and, in spite of his somewhat worn appearance, and a slight odor to his fur, he still kept with his dignity and was evidently very much at peace with himself. He must have been a powerful and wonderful dog in his heyday, thought Toby, watching him.

Toby glanced toward where the rabbit had been, guessing that it, too, must have been startled, fleeing into the safety of the trees.

Oh, he’s gone by now, said Max, looking up from the stream. You have to be quick on your paws if you want to catch one of those.

Then, with the old dog having had his fill, they took refuge from the heat under the large white-ash tree he had pointed out, its blue-green leaves beginning to change to its more characteristic autumn color of purplish-pink.

There, isn’t that much better now, lad? said Max, coming to rest a moment later in the shaded grass.

Toby, the young dog beside him said. I’m called Toby.

Max looked to him, his eyes still warm with sympathy. Then Toby it is. And a fine name, too. Most pleased to meet you, Toby.

Same here, said the young dog.

I must apologize. I didn’t mean to startle you so badly a few moments ago.

I wasn’t startled, said Toby, discreetly defending his honor. I was just, well . . . surprised. And being careful. He couldn’t help but look away, however, unsure as to whether the old dog was buying his ruse or not.

Good! replied Max, with a knowing wink in his voice. For he was well aware of Toby’s pretense, but felt no need to be anything but good-natured about it. He then said, with a bit more seriousness, It’s wise to be careful. The world is full of dangers.

What was that animal at the edge of the woods a moment ago? I’d never seen one before.

Never seen a—!? Why, that was a rabbit, lad, answered the old retriever, rather surprised. They’re all over the place. They’re good meat. But, like I’ve said, they’re a hard catch.

Toby nodded weakly, still eyeing with curiosity the area where the rabbit had been.

Now, then, said Max, with earnestness, as he settled himself more snugly into the grass, do you want to talk about it? About this morning, I mean?

Toby glanced at him, feeling those dark clouds of shame forming over him again, though perhaps not quite as dark as before, thanks to the old dog’s kind and easy nature.

There’s really not much to tell, he said, and then proceeded to recount the events of his day: of how he was awakened early, was unexpectedly led to the family car, driven from his home, out of town, and way out into the country and abandoned, and, lastly, of what had occurred, more or less, up until he had met Max. The golden retriever grunted wistfully. What about you? asked Toby, after a brief pause. "Why are you out here on your own?"

That’s what I’d like to know, replied Max in a solemn, quiet manner, as if speaking to himself. The light in his eyes seemed to go dim as he sat there, memories of another time pouring into his mind. "Like you, there really isn’t much to tell. I had been with my human family for many years – since my youth, though I wasn’t quite a pup. I was as good and true a friend and companion as I knew how to be: loyal, brave – if need be – and easy-going. We all got along just fine, the children, their father and I. It was a good home, a fine life. I loved them, and they loved me. At least, I think they did. Then, one day, everything changed.

An adult female soon joined us, he continued. She was a bit cold toward me, though I thought nothing of it at the time, of course. Some people just don’t take to dogs. But I felt a change in the air. Not so much with the children, but with the master of the house. He became less affectionate toward me. Not really cold, mind you, just not as warm as he once was. I began to feel left out of the loop, somehow. I couldn’t help sensing something was wrong. Max stopped to lick his forepaw and rubbed his eye to clean it, then carried on.

One day they began packing things up and, little by little, everything went. Another day the children left, and never returned. It wasn’t long afterward that my master and his female packed up what little was left of their belongings and, early the next morning, with all the doors and windows left wide open, they, too, left, and never returned. Leaving me to find my own way. He paused again, briefly. And a hard, lonely way it’s been these many months.

The sun drifted idly toward the western rim, as silent as the heartbeat of a sleeping mouse. Toby wondered if many dogs were abandoned like he and Max had been. Why do they do it, Max? he said, a moment later, with melancholy. Why do they treat us that way?

I don’t know why, Max replied calmly. "I don’t know why man does many of the things he does. As much time as I’ve spent with them, they’re often a mystery to me. But not all men are bad, Toby. You mustn’t think that. Besides, there’s no point in being bitter about it, really. It doesn’t help any. It’s best to just move on, get on with your life and do the best you can."

Toby scratched his ear briskly, then said, You say you’ve been on your own for months now. How have you survived out here for so long?

Well, it hasn’t been easy, but it can be done. You scrounge here, scrape there. You pick up some tricks along the way. You manage.

How long has it been since you’ve eaten? Toby inquired.

"Why, just this morning. Shortly before I wandered over here and ran into you. Why? When have you eaten last?"

The young dog then told Max of his not very successful attempts at finding food, except for the sparse banquet of stale cookies and bread.

Well, why didn’t you say so, lad? said Max with quiet indignation. We’ll go try and fetch something for you right away.

Where? In this town here?

No, said Max, thinking carefully and reflectively. Considering your recent encounters with some of the people here, it might be best to move on to the next town. There’s another one not too far, he added, feeling a bit of pride in his knowledge of the area. We have a while of sunlight left. It’ll take some time getting there, but it’ll be worth it.

Toby then started making his way toward the slope, but Max called to him, telling him there was a better, safer way of getting to the place he spoke of. The young dog glanced at the top of the patchy incline, then, after hesitating, trotted back over.

Max, he said, walking up to the golden retriever. Do you think there’s any chance my master will come back for me? Any chance at all?

The old dog held a steady gaze on him, and saw the yearning and hope swimming in Toby’s eyes. He wanted very much to tell him that his master would come back for him, that everything would be all right – but he knew it wasn’t true. It’s not likely, lad, he said with kindness, but candidly. Not after what he did. Like I say, it’s best to just let it go and move on.

Toby looked back up at the stone wall, pensively, his eyes both hard and soft, strong and weak, as if struggling with some unresolved matter. He took one small, undecided step toward it, then stopped.

Is everything all right? asked Max, a bit puzzled.

There was a brief moment of silence before Toby finally turned from the small hill, and said, Sure. Everything’s fine. Let’s go.

Trust me, this way is easier, said the retriever, as they headed toward a thinly wooded area, side-by-side, and a lot safer. It’s good to be careful, lad. He then turned to Toby, giving him a warm, welcoming look. And it’s good to have company, again, too.

Yes, the young dog agreed, the first hint of solace in his voice all day. It’s good to have friends.

The two dogs then strolled off, and Toby, feeling thankful for having met Max, was awfully relieved not to be alone anymore.

An autumn breeze wandered across the stream, billowing the taller grasses of the field to and fro and shaking a few loose leaves from the trees down to the ground. Up at the old stone wall, which sat at the edge of town, a single leaf fell from the tree that stood next to it, landing well within the shade. And there it sat, its only company one thoroughly chewed-up rubber ball.

CHAPTER 2

Ah, here we are, muttered Max, as they emerged from a copse of beechnut nearly two hours later.

They had traveled a good distance through vast woods and lonely fields, and had come to the edge of a wide, grassy meadow busy with the fluttering of monarch butterflies. The sun was sinking fast behind them, leaving the sky painted with broad strokes of reddish-pink and yellow-orange. The air had gotten cooler, and sweeter, and the surrounding countryside had come alive with a chorus of crickets and katydids, singing their nocturnal opus to the growing audience of emerging stars above.

Toby and Max now stood near the southern end of another small town, not all that different from the one they had left behind, but different enough in scent to be recognized by Max. They, dogs, obviously know nothing of the names of towns or cities, and care even less. Guided by a world of scents, and, to a lesser degree, sights and sounds, a region’s signature smells were all they really needed for identification.

Here, let me rest a bit, grunted Max, as he lay down in an area where the grass wasn’t quite so tall. I know you’re hungry, but I guess I’m getting a bit old for all of this running about back and forth. I’ll just be a moment.

Toby settled in beside the elder canine without complaint, and then asked, Is that how you’ve managed all these months, from town to town?

More or less, lad, more or less, said Max. You get food when and where you can. If you stay in one place for too long you become noticed, and then, well, unless you’re one of the lucky ones who gets a new home, you’re just considered a problem, and then they usually chase you off. But if you disappear for a while to another place, you’re forgotten. No man spends too much time thinking about a dog, unless it’s his own. And even then, not always enough.

Max stopped to yawn, then gave himself a good scratch to his flank with his hind leg. When I was first left behind I was upset and scared, of course, and didn’t quite know what to do, he continued. But I soon gathered my wits and went on my way. It isn’t easy for a stray to find a new home, though. It’s not that I didn’t try, either. I was chased away plenty, but mostly just ignored. I got tired of it, so I stopped bothering. Max yawned again, then shook his head and pawed at the air to shoo away a butterfly dancing in front of him on wings as bright as a ripe orange. No, it’s not easy for a stray to find a new home, he repeated. Especially for an old hound like me.

"Oh, you’re not that old, Max," said Toby.

Max grunted a short canine laugh. I’ve seen more than twelve summers come and go, lad. That’s old enough. Then, rising up and stretching, he said, All right, then, let’s go get you a meal. It’s getting dark. We shouldn’t have much difficulty keeping hidden and out of trouble.

They then wandered into town. Max seemed to know his way around well, and Toby followed him closely as they trotted up one block and down another. There were few people on the streets – it being the middle of a workweek – and they were